Heroes of a Different Sort
by The-Xenocide
Summary: Even across worlds and oceans, some things never change.
1. Prologue: The Phoenix and the Flame

**Notes: Right then. I can't believe that I'm trying this again, but I'm posting yet another fic, after my previous three attracted no readers. First of all, this is a crossover fic, but one that I believe truly has potential. The two worlds in question are Harry Potter of course, and Naruto. I know this has been done already, but stop your groaning. There are so many parallels between the two stories it is astonishing. I'm beginning to wonder if there's this entire society of writers and manga authors that get together and vote on a common theme to sell. But anyway, I'm getting off on a tangent here. I do that alot if I miss my medication...ahem I have read a few of these attempted crossover fics, and to be very brutally honest, except for a few, they sucked. While this is depressing to me as a reader, it is heartening to me as a writer. This means i could possibly break into a whole new, previously unexplored aspect of Harry Potter! I am bound and determined to make this crossover fic realistic and enjoyable. And that means detail and looooonnngg chapters. After all, what's the fun of having these two 'playgrounds' if you can't mess around with them for a bit? I mean tell me honestly, doesn't the idea of Maito Gai and Severus Snape in the same room just send you into convulsions? The good kinds, I mean. And because both Kishimoto and Rowlings have left much of their respective characters' pasts a mystery, there is much fun to be had in tweaking them to suit my twisted sense of 'fun'. Lastly, I hope that more people will review then they did in my last stories. It's hard being a struggling author when you are competing with veritable gods of fanfiction! So please, review! I want to hear all you've got to say.**

**Disclaimer: Well, I don't own either Harry Potter or good ole Naruto, though I got pretty close to owning Kishimoto. Damn restraining orders... **

Heroes of a Different Sort

**Prologue: **

The Phoenix and The Flame

Even across worlds and oceans, some things never change.

Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was sitting in a purple squashy armchair in front of the modest fireplace that graced his office, reflecting on this depressing truth.

This past week was undoubtedly the worst one of his life. And in a life that had already spanned nearly two centuries, seen two World Wars, and the rise of two Dark Lords, this was quite surprising. In the span of seven days, a Dark Lord had been vanquished at the expense of two of the noblest souls he had ever had the fortune to meet, a small child had been bereft of his parents, singled out as a savior according to a chilling prophecy, and placed in the care of relatives who would hate him merely for his heritage. One Sirius Black, a best friend of the couple killed, had been singled out as their traitor. Another friend of the Potters, poor Peter Pettigrew, had died seeking revenge against Black, but was brutally murdered for his pains, along with a street full of innocent muggles.

The Ministry had had a devil of a time locating all of the eyewitnesses and modifying their memories. Black, surprisingly enough, put up no resistance as Aurors brought him in. As he was then carted off to Azkaban without the benefit of a trial, as was befitting of such a strong supporter of the Dark Lord, it was disturbing to note the man's lack of remorse was so great that he was in throes of hysterical laughter. The Dementor's Kiss would have been too kind for his sort. Lastly, and most tragically, Remus Lupin was the sole remainder of happier times. With his world torn asunder and bereft of his hope and friends, he fell into a black despair, and it seemed that nothing would rouse him from it.

Yes indeed, this last week had been truly hellish for Dumbledore.

While others were out celebrating wildly at the apparent lifting of the shadow that had hung over their heads for decades now, he was sitting in his office, brooding and silent. A great evil had been vanquished, but to what ends? If the prophecy was to be interpreted correctly, Voldemort was merely severely wounded, not utterly destroyed as most desperately wanted to believe. Hope had been absent for so long that what little that was offered the Wizarding World, even if it was a false one, they eagerly grasped it and held it close. He could not blame them for seizing this opportunity for happiness, small though it was.

The dancing flames of the fire reflected dully off of his half-moon spectacles as he sighed deeply.

A Dark Lord had been defeated, but at the ruin of countless lives and futures.

A few years of happiness and peace had been bought at James and Lily Potter's lives, and little Harry's future had been stained with pain and sorrow, as was evidenced by the jagged scar left behind by Voldemort's Killing Curse. To make matters worse, he had left Harry in the care of relatives, in order for Harry to remain under the protection of the Blood magic, who he knew would undoubtedly torment the boy for his connections to his mother and her "kind". Though no one would know, it nearly broke him to condemn Harry to a life bereft of love. He was essentially dooming the Boy Who Lived to an existence of misery and hatred.

In his mind, the defeat of one Dark Lord was hardly worth it.

Involuntarily, his eyes were drawn to one of the many shelves that adorned his walls, which were crammed between portraits of previous Headmasters and Headmistresses, who were now soundly asleep at such a late hour, and bookshelves that held many rare, interesting, and extremely old books of arcane magic and lore. Usually, these shelves were crammed with all sorts of instruments and odd baubles, but such was not the case with this particular shelf. Only one item was resting there, and though it was battered and beat, it was lovingly cared for, as could be seen by the lack of dust on the shelf and the telltale shine of polish was detected on the metal in the faint firelight. The battle-knife, as he had fondly named it, ------_what was it called again? Ah yes, a kunai_------was proudly displayed on a stand that held it with the handle facing the ceiling and the point of the blade was resting in a small notch at the bottom of the stand.

It was a souvenir from his past travels, when he had journeyed with his father to the Orient, and a reminder that evil and misfortune could strike at innocents, even when they were separated by an ocean.

_--------------------------------_

It had only been one summer, the one between his Fourth and Fifth Years at Hogwarts, but it had been a summer that he had never forgotten. His father was investigating the possibility of exclusive rights of supplying the people of that land with Western wool. If his father managed to wrangle out some decent trade agreements, the Dumbledores would have a firm foothold in the world of trade with the eastern Wizarding powers, an unprecedented first for a Western Wizard, considering the fact that these people were intensely, almost to the point of paranoia, wary of outsiders, or gaijin, as they were labeled contemptuously by some of the members of the trading commission. 1 The country's closed ports policy was still in effect even after it's nearest neighbor, Japan, had been forced to finally abandon that practice in the early 1800s. In essence, outsiders were banned from even setting foot on the continent.

Somehow though, his father managed to wrangle a temporary license to trade with one of the so-called Hidden Villages of the country from the government, something that had been previously thought impossible.

While the agreement itself was already pretty much in the bag, what remained was the tedious haggling between the finer points of who paid whom how much and when. If only his brother had deigned to join him! But Aberfoth could not be persuaded to leave his experiments or part with his precious goats. And there was only so much of that legal mumbo-jumbo a teenage wizard could stand, so he set out to explore. The Hidden Village of the Leaf, as he had come to learn it was called, was huge!

In his older years, Dumbledore would reflect ruefully on his astonishment. To his young mind, it was quite surprising that such a seemingly magically inferior society was capable of building such a fascinating city. To be quite frank with himself, he had naturally assumed that Western Wizards far surpassed that of any other ilk. The inhabitants of the Leaf had certainly proven him wrong.

He was slightly apprehensive of the man in the white hawk mask that had been detailed to discretely shadow him, but foolishly assured himself that he could handle any trouble, should something come up.

He had tentatively made his way towards what appeared to be a training academy for the Village's young, expecting the masked man to stop him. When his shadow made no move to intercept him, he made his way more confidently towards a group of students, most no older than the Second or First Years at Hogwarts and a few younger, who were apparently beginning some sort of gym in the dusty yards in front of the school.

He had been quite mistaken about the nature of this Academy.

Childish games and pastimes had no place there. The Academy's only purpose was to train young children, very nearly from their first steps, to be cold, calculating killers known as ninja, as he had later found them to be called. This realization had very literally struck a blow on young Dumbledore's rather naive view of the world. He was almost physically ill when he saw the children sparring with each other and trading blows that would have crippled a powerful wizard.

Why, the students who were nearly ready to graduate from the Academy, and a good many years below him, could have murdered him, or anyone else for that matter, without the least bit of remorse. His faith of all the goodness and fairness in the world shaken, he had hurriedly made his way back to the Embassy, where he and his father were staying during their tenure as merchants and pseudo-ambassadors for their homeland, Great Britain.

The man in the hawk mask had politely turned his head when Dumbledore stumbled into a small, dank alley, unable to hold the contents of his stomach inside of him any longer. It was never a pretty thing when a person's perceptions of the world were shattered.

Wizards included.

_--------------------------------_

With a sharp _crackle_ of the glowing embers, Dumbledore was startled out of his reverie of the past and back to the present.

He sighed heavily as he recalled his days in the Land of the Elements. His time there had shaped him into the man he was today, and without the lessons that his friends and experiences had taught him, he would no doubt be a lesser wizard today. True, the lessons had been harsh, but his previous naive beliefs would never have enabled him to defeat Grindlewald during the Second World War or find the strength to fight his successor, Lord Voldemort, previously known as Tom Marvolo Riddle.

The professor smiled wryly to himself. The numerous scars and small cuts he'd earned during his short stint as a merchant with his father that summer had never let him forget his vow to be as strong for his people, as the ninja of the Hidden Leaf were for theirs.

He glanced at a clock situated on the mantelpiece above the fire, noting the alignment of the many phases of the moon and the sun in the center. He found it to be much simpler than trying to decipher those ridiculously complicated clocks that the muggles had invented to tell time. All of those numbers and hands were quite confusing.

A crescent moon slowly ticked into a notch to the left of the sun, making a perfect horizontal line across the face of the clock. He truly detested all of this cloak and dagger nonsense, but it was a small price to pay in order to pacify his friend's more paranoid tendencies. It was fortunate that their meetings only took place once a month. After all, an old man like himself needed his rest. And pulling all-nighters only served to remind him that he wasn't as young as he used to be.

With a nonchalant wave of his hand, the meek flames in the fireplace roared to life.

Almost immediately afterwards, the flames turned a flamboyant green, and a dark, muddled shape could be seen rapidly growing in its center. Unruffled, Dumbledore sat calmly with his chin cradled in one hand.

The shape was growing larger and its outline was becoming more definite by the moment. It seemed to be wearing large, voluminous robes, and a tricornered hat seemed to be adorning the figure's head. Suddenly, out from the fire stumbled an old man. His beige and red robes were smeared in black soot in some places, and his ceremonial hat has askew on his head, obscuring part of the man's face and hiding only half of the scowl that he wore on his face.

Growling exasperatedly, he tore the hat from his head and flung it onto the floor next to the chair opposite of Dumbledores'.

"Only a wizard would invent an insanely complicated and dangerous form of travel that utilizes the blood of a dragon!" The man snarled. "This damn floo powder of yours is more trouble than it's worth!"

"And only a ninja, my friend, whose grace and agility in battle is unmatched, could fall prey to common chimney soot."

Dumbledore only smiled pleasantly as his friend began muttering curses under his breath as he futilely tried to brush away the aforementioned soot. It would have been amusing to see if the vein on the man's forehead would burst, but he was in no mood to deal with an irate and bleeding ninja. With a flick of his wrist, his wand appeared in his hand.

"If I may," he said softly with eyes twinkling, "offer my assistance?"

The old man scowled, folded his arms, and _harrumphed_ quite loudly. Taking his friend's surly attitude for 'yes', he gave his wand a choppy jabbing motion in the other's direction. The soot instantly fell in clouds from the beige robes and merrily made its way over to the fireplace, where it settled in happily amongst the embers of the fire.

Wand once again tucked in his sleeve, Dumbledore gestured towards the chair opposite his own.

"Please Sarutobi, sit. It has been far too long since your last visit."

The old man squinted suspiciously at Dumbledore. "And no one knows of our meeting this night? You know that if word of this reached ears in high places, nothing short of Kami-sama himself could save us from my countrymen's wrath."

Though it was tiring to hear these words each time they met, Dumbledore knew that his old friend had a point. Even decades later, the Land of the Elements were hardly any closer to throwing open wide the doors to their country. Though Dumbledore himself was welcome, along with an extremely select few, the country was closed off to the world. Most of the uneducated populace wasn't even aware that there was an entire world outside of their borders. Personally, Dumbledore thought that allowing the country to flounder in ignorance was an extremely shortsighted and potentially catastrophic move on the government's part. Participating in an isolationist policy would only result in a general weakening in strength, as Japan had demonstrated, though they had miraculously made great strides in catching up with the world, and was now considered a world power.

A country can only hold out for so long before the rest of the world comes calling at the gates, though the ruling council of warlords were too stubborn to realize this.

When change came, and make no mistake, it would, the land's populace will be ill prepared to deal with it. Until that time, the upper echelons of the government were determined to stave off the inevitable for as long as possible, going to far as to threaten death to anyone who would have any contact with the outside world. Not even the leader of a powerful Hidden Village could defy this decree and live to tell of it.

"Never fear. Wards to stave off eavesdroppers and wayward ears have been installed on top of the original enchantments of this office. As I've explained countless times before, Saru, nothing short of an entire brigade of wizards could even begin to make a crack in my spellwork." The old wizard dearly wished that they didn't have to go through the same routine time after time.

The Third Hokage of the Hidden Village of the Leaf took one last suspicious glance around the office, then stumped over to the chair and collapsed in it with a weary sigh. "This month has been far longer for me than you, Albus." The surly demanor had suddenly vanished from his old friend's face, and Dumbledore noted with some concern that Sarutobi had seemed to age ten years in the space of a month.

A rustling of cloth, and Sarutobi suddenly found, to his immense delight, a small bag of lemon-drops thrust under his nose. "Ah! I'm glad you remembered, Albus! I so dearly love this western candy of yours." He greedily took a handful from the bag and after depositing the hand candies in one of his numerous pockets, unwrapped one and popped it into his mouth with obvious relish.

"Mmmfh!"

Dumbledore nodded in satisfaction and popped a lemon-drop of his own into his mouth, whisking away his stash to hide once more amongst his robes.

"It's hahrd to behlieve that this cahndy washn't made by mahgic." The Hokage was so enraptured by the little mound of sugar that he couldn't be bothered to tuck it his cheek when he spoke. "I couhld make ah fohrtune selling these!"

Nodding sagely the headmaster replied, "Throughout my many years, I have never been able to convince the populace of the wonders of a lemon-drop. Perhaps they would have better success in your country."

At the mention of his homeland, the Hokage lost all of his vitality and once again became the defeated old man that had disturbed Dumbledore so. Silence reigned as Sarutobi stared into the fire, and Dumbledore stared at him. The melancholy silence was broken by Dumbledore's soft query.

"How goes the rebuilding, Saru? I trust the village is coming along nicely?"

Resignedly, the old Hokage tore his gaze from the fire and turned to his friend, giving him a wan smile.

"Yes, the rebuilding is coming along rather quickly. I think that in a month or two, all will be well." He rested his hand in his chin, unconciously imitating Dumbldore's earlier pose. "But there's the rub, Albus. Homes and buildings can be rebuilt with a handful of lumber and a few nails, but the human spirit cannot be healed quite so easily."

"A sad, unfortunate truth."

The Third sighed heavily, feeling the weight of every single day of his long years. It was a burdern that was becoming harder to bear each year. "So many of my people died in the battle against Nine Tails. Not one family was spared, not one! Some bodies were so unrecognizable that the family members were forced to search corpse by corpse for a familiar face or a birthmark. Even then, some families didn't even have the comfort of finding their loved ones." The old man's eyes were distant as he relieved the immediate aftermath of the Leaf's battle with the Demon Fox. "Our graveyards were full to the brim, and mass graves had to be dug, for no one had the heart or the stomach to cremate such a large group of bodies. And when we discovered the body of the Fourth Albus, it seemed as if all the hope in our village had fled."

Dumbledore could only nod. He knew all too well what suffering Sarutobi was going through.

Suddenly, Sarutobi's eyes focused on the Headmaster. "Sometimes I wonder if the cost was worth it. Even for all our efforts, that damned demon couldn't be destroyed. It could only be sealed away." Sarutobi chuckled darkly. "The irony of it all, my friend! The strongest of our number, the Fourth Hokage no less, could not defeat the demon, he could only seal it away where it could never harm another living soul again. But the only container strong enough to hold the demon, along with its cage, was a newborn baby."

Dumbledore bowed his head at this statement. Another innnocent's life had been ruined for the greater good.

"And though it was the Fourth's dying wish that the child be viewed as a hero," he continued, "the villagers will never acknowledge him as such. Every time they see the boy, they will only be blinded for their hatred for the demon inside of him." He buried his face in one hand, his finger splayed across its width. "The boy will grow up hated and feared, doomed to live out his life as an outcast. Is it worth it Albus? Will it all be worth it?"

Dumblore could only say what his heart felt, and even then he was not sure if his words could hearten his jaded and world-weary friend. "No one can know that for sure Saru, and trying to answer that question will drive us madness. What's done is done, and the past can be altered no more than the sun can shine during the night. But we must have faith in those we entrust our futures with. I know of another child that has been given a burden that is just as heavy. We'll watch them closely, my friend. If there is anything that my years have taught me, it is that strength comes in the most unlikely of packages." He paused, popping another lemon-drop in his mouth. "And I believe that Destiny has managed to pencil in those two boys on an already busy schedule."

The Third snorted, his gloomy manner lightened somewhat. "Those brats? Hah! They'll need all they help they can get, destiny and fate aside. In our day, we didn't need all these theatrics to get things done."

"Well...perhaps you're right. After all, our generation is made of sterner stuff. Us old fogies had it much harder than the children of nowadays." Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling full force. "Though if I'm not mistaken, I seem to remember a scruffy looking teenager of my own age quite a few summers ago swearing up and down that he would be the next Hokage, whether destiny played a hand in his selection or not."

The Hokage scowled, though there was hardly any true effort behind it. "I also seem to remember a weak gaijin who managed to stab himself in the foot with a kunai. Twice. In the same week. And both feet as well."

Dumbledore winced as the painful memories resurfaced. He hadn't been able to walk right for a month after that. The First Hokage, only a decade or two older than Sarutobi and himself at the time, had always found some way to bring it up around Dumbledore's father and the elite ninja of the village. He was the butt of every joke possible in all of his time there. It was all good natured of course, but a few months of constant teasing was enough to nearly drive Dumbledore to distraction.

"Touché, Saru."

And from that remark onwards, the conversation was not between two weary leaders in a war that had yet to be won, but two old friends merely reminiscing of happier times, and instilling in each other a sense of hope for a brighter future for the two boys that had already sacrificed so much at so early an age.

At that precise moment, Harry Potter, better known as the Boy Who Lived, and Uzumaki Naruto, soon to be known as Konohoa's Number One Ninja, two boys who couldn't be any more different, and yet couldn't be more the same, lay sound asleep dreaming dreams filled with deep throated growls and high pitched laughter, flashes of sickly green and murky crimson.

For now, the world was at peace, and dreams were only that-just dreams.

(1) Refers to Japan's closed ports policy, which basically said, "Screw you outsiders! We don't like you and we don't need you!". This policy stayed in effect until an American Commodore by the last name of Perry in the late 1800s asked Japan politely, with a couple of battleships that just happened to be in the same area at the time, to open up or 'else'. Pround to be an American, amen! History's kinda iffy, so correct me if I'm wrong.

**Ok boys and girls! I hope that this chapter garnered some interest. I realize that I left some gaping holes in history and explanations, but this is a prologue for goodness sakes! I can't give away everything immediately. More will be forthcoming, I assure you, and the chapters will be longer than this one. As for the explanation why the Naruto universe is completely oblivious to the outside world, well, I even I realize it is tenuous at best. But hey, it was the only semi-believeable thing I could think of at the time. And for those of you who are still confused where the narutoverse is, don't worry, all will be revealed...eventually. Review, flame, whatever it is...or I'll pair Gai and Snape!**

**PS: If anyone wants to write an omake on how our favorite Headmaster managed to stab himself both feet, I'll feature it in the next chapter I write.**


	2. Chapter One: Cremation Desecration?

**AN: Yeesh. I can't believe I've taken this long to get the actual first chapter up on this fic. Blame me being lazy and my preoccupation of haunting the Evangelion fanfiction site. Speaking of shameless self-advertising, I've also been working on my new Naruto fic, Dead on Arrival. Check it out sometime. **

**Enjoy and review...please?**

**Summary: Heroes are shaped by many a thing, and the slightest deviance from the course that Destiny has set for them will result in wondrous, unimaginable, and possibly catastropihic consequences. So begins the tale of the Boy Who Lived and the Boy No One Wished to Live. Even across worlds and oceans, some things never change.**

**Disclaimer: Sighs No...I don't own Naruto and all things related. Happy now?**

Heroes of a Different Sort

**A Xenocide Production**

**Chapter One:**

Cremation Desecration?

The village was the perfect picture of peace and tranquility. The usually busy marketplace was sluggish and bereft of its usual frenzied pace when catering to potential customers. The weather was balmy and induced a haze of general laziness. The few adults that could be seen out and about were either sitting under a shade tree snoozing peacefully, or keeping a watchful eye on the rowdy group of youngsters that were taking full advantage of the lack of responsible adults.

Yes, all was right in the world.

"STOP THIEF!"

Then again, tranquility was overrated.

A small, orange clad boy was blurring down the street through the marketplace. He was pursued by a small crowd of vendors and merchants who were out for his blood. The boy stopped for no one and nothing, knocking over startled customers, bowling through clots of children at play, and somehow managing to plunge half the stands of the market into ghastly scenes of disarray and chaos in his mad dash to escape the angry mob.

One particularly burly man, the leader of the pack and victim of the boy's sticky fingers, was puffing heavily in his attempt to keep up with the boy.

"YOU BRAT! STOP RIGHT THE-!"

The rest of his sentence ended in a wet gurgle as a squashy and extremely ripe tomato smashed with a sickening _thlop_ into his face, courtesy of the orange clothed boy who had barreled his way through an unfortunate vegetable stand, which was now nothing more than a sad pile of crushed and squished vegetables.

The man's howl of outrage as he tried to remove the pulpy mess from his face very nearly deafened the pursuing mob.

The boy grinned as colorful curses followed him as he made his way through the winding street. His grin widened as he noticed that the street was getting narrower as he advanced. Freedom was nearly in sight! At the end of the lane were several alleys that branched off into a maze that the mob would be hard pressed to find him in if they continued the pursuit.

He chanced a look over his shoulder to see how close his pursuers were. The havoc that he had wrought on the marketplace was seriously hampering their movement, causing the mob to trip over the remains of stalls and slip on various foodstuffs. The burly man was still spouting off curses, so incredibly angry that the boy was sure that the many veins that were popping up on his forehead would burst. Of course, the remains of the ripened tomato still on the man's face managed to make him look like a failed experiment in lipstick application rather than a merchant stewing in righteous anger over a thief.

The boy stopped and turned around to face the crowd of people. Sticking his tongue out and posing victoriously, one hand in the sign for victory, and the other grasping the stolen item closely to his side.

"Hah!" he crowed, "You bastards can't catch me! I'm the great Uzumaki Naruto, Konohoa's Number One Ninja!"

The portly merchant was trying his hardest to form a coherent sentence, but all he could manage was a few spluttering noises and wild gestures, most of which were obvious pantomimes of how he would go about wringing the brat's neck. The mob was still quite a ways off, as they had to practically wade through destroyed stalls and goods. The others in the group had joined the merchant in his rant, shouting the extremely painful and fatal things they were going to inflict upon him when they caught up.

They very nearly dropped dead of rage induced apoplexy when the Uzumaki boy presented his response in the form of one finger, and one doesn't have to guess which finger it was.

The mob dove into the mess with a renewed vigor, practically frothing at the mouth and flinging any unfortunate bystander or offending pile of ruined goods out of the way in their haste to reach the thief.

Naruto sweat dropped as the portly merchant bowled over a rack of women's clothing, leaving the owner of the stall, while adding her own obscenities, to chase after the various articles of clothing that had attached themselves to the man's body. In his haste to speed Naruto on his way to the afterlife, he failed to notice the frilly under things that were dangling over his shoulders. Somehow, a bra had managed to find its way atop the man's head.

Assured of his easy escape, Naruto whirled around and dashed to the mouth of the street, turning his head back to the mob and giving them one last raspberry.

"Nyaa!"

WHAM!!!

Naruto slammed into a wall that he could have sworn wasn't there two seconds ago. He literally bounced backwards, tumbling to the ground in a cloud of dust. He lay there staring at the sky, stunned. His thoughts were kind of hazy, and though his skull was thicker than the Hokage's pile of daily paperwork, crashing into a wall at full speed had lowered his already considerably dull thinking process. As such, he could only think of one word to sum up his feelings.

"Ow."

The Great Uzumaki Naruto, ladies and gentlemen.

A large shadow fell across his figure. Bloodshot eyes bore into him, nearly drilling two smoking holes into his own eyes.

Despite Naruto's admirable survival instincts, his ability to do and say the most damning things outweighed those traits considerably. So of course, he just _had _to snicker and slur somewhat drunkenly to the enraged merchant,

"Whatch yer doin with a bra on yer head?"

It was amazing how many shades of red and purple that the human face could cycle through in less than a minute. The portly man managed to go through all sixty-three in thirty seconds. Not even bothering to snatch the offending garment from his head, he reached down to throttle the everlasting life out of the boy.

The impending threat to his life very quickly brought Naruto out of his daze. He quickly squirmed backwards across the ground, out of his would-be killer's reach, fully intending to make another dash for freedom with his prize. Eyes focused only on the mob that was slowly edging closer, he somehow forgot about the wall that he had crashed into but a few moments earlier. Unfortunately for Naruto, the wall was in fact not a wall at all, as he discovered when he whirled to make another mad dash for freedom, which was only a few feet away.

Blocking his way into the alley with his arms crossed was an ANBU. Nartuo noted with dismay the red markings on the man's tiger mask, which signified his rank as a ranking officer. The light armor strapped on various body parts and wakizashi1 across his back only added to the aura of authority and power he was exuding. Again, Naruto could only think of one word that could sum up his situation.

"Crap."

Tearing his gaze from the ANBU and turning back to the mob, who were now brandishing various sharp and pointy objects, and then glancing back at the imposing ninja, he made a decision. It was perhaps the wisest one he had made, and probably ever would make. Faced with an insanely strong ANBU whose appearances in civilian matters was a rare and grim occurrence, and an angry group of merchants that were most likely going to rip him limb from limb, the choice was painfully obvious.

In a blur of speed almost unreal for a boy barely even into his second year at the Academy, he whirled around and made a dash for the crowd, praying to Kami-sama that his death would be quick and painless, preventing any of the horrible things that an ANBU would surely inflict upon him.

Naruto was fast. The ANBU was faster.

"Ack!"

With terrifying speed and precision, the ANBU had lazily reached out and snatched the back of Naruto's collar as he made an attempt to impale himself upon the mob's instruments of death.

Naruto's eyes bulged obscenely as he was yanked back towards his doom, the collar nearly crushing his windpipe in the process. He suddenly found himself gazing into the thin slits of the tiger mask. A gravelly voiced laced with minute amounts of amusement and annoyance barked out, "The Hokage wants to have a word with you, boy." Here the elite ninja paused, giving the unfortunate thief a brief but rough shake. "He's very displeased by your actions."

Naruto broke out into a cold sweat.

Death and torture by an ANBU was one thing, but the Hokage was in a different league altogether. As the strongest ninja in the village, who knew what horrible punishments the old man would inflict upon him?

Still holding Naruto by his collar, who was squirming and trying his very best to escape the man's iron grip with his prize still intact, the ANBU turned to leave, only to have a still extremely pissed off mob begin to murmur in protest.

"Wait just a minute! That brat stole from me and you're taking him to the Hokage!?" The portly man, somehow now missing all his frilly decorations, was livid. "We all know that the Hokage clearly favors the boy! He'll only get a slap on the wrist and then sent on his merry way."

The ANBU paused in midstride, and slowly turned around.

He settled his gaze on the indignant merchant. It was quite unnerving to be able to feel the intense glare that the ANBU was shooting the portly man from behind his expressionless mask.

"I'm sorry sir, my ears seem to be acting up. I'm not sure I heard you right."

The sheer coldness and venom with which the ninja spoke propelled the now fearful crowd back a few steps. The merchant stood alone, with no strength of a mob to back him up if things should turn ugly.

A person is a calm, rational being that can steadily reason it's way through any situation, assessing all the possible angles and outcomes. People, on the other hand, are dumb panicky animals that can only find security and safety through a herd or pack mentality. When something bigger and badder than said pack comes along, then it will do one of two things. It will either immediately disperse into a free-for-all, every man for himself, get my own ass out of the fire escape, or the herd will choose one of their own number to appease the threat.

It wasn't courage that enabled the merchant to stand in front of an ANBU without any support.

He was just incredibly stupid enough to not realize that he had been offered up as the proverbial sacrificial lamb.

"You heard me!" The porcine man ranted, "That... _thing_...will get off scot free and we'll not get a cent of justice!" Here he gestured broadly at the widespread damage to the marketplace. "Who will pay for this mess!? The Hokage is a senile old-"

Suddenly, the fat unfortunate was flying through the air over the heads of the crowd, only to crash into a stone wall of a nearby house. Blood was spurting freely from a mangled nose and a mouth that was bereft of all its front teeth. He was out like a light and was likely to be in a tremendous amount of pain when he regained consciousness.

The elite ninja casually wiped the blood spatters off of his fist onto Naruto's orange jumpsuit.

Amazingly, he had held on to Naruto with one hand while dashing to pummel the presumptuous merchant.

Naruto was gazing up in awe at the ANBU. He had _known _that the ninja had moved when he saw the crumpled form of the fat man, but all he had felt was a slight breeze from his passing and a light blur of his surroundings. From Naruto's perspective, it was like the two hadn't moved at all.

"It wouldn't be wise," drawled the ninja, seemingly to no one in particular, "to disrespect the Hokage in my or in any of my colleagues' hearing." His mask nodded slightly in the direction of the motionless body of the outspoken vendor. "We would have to chastise you." And here he turned his head towards the crowd, who instinctively edged back from him. "I'm sure that you all agree that it would be an...inconvienience...if you were to end up like our friend here."

Soft mutterings of agreement floated from the crowd, who were now cowed and beaten.

Pivoting on his feet once more, he aimed himself towards the Hokage's Tower. His voice carried behind him as he walked away. "You'll be compensated in some small way by the Hokage. For now, I would suggest that you get this mess cleaned up." Though he hadn't come right out and said it, the former mob understood the unspoken 'Or Else'.

When you lived in a ninja village, you tended to notice beneath the underneath.

Throwing Naruto over his shoulder like a sack of flour, who squawked pitifully in protest, he sprang into the air, leaping from rooftop to rooftop to make his way towards the Hokage's Tower.

Slowly, the crowd dispersed, leaving behind only the women's apparel vendor. She was agitatedly snatching various garments and frilly underthings from the dusty ground and muttering under her breath. She finally came to the merchant, who was starting to stir to awareness. As his vision focused, he noticed three things: 1) He was living every pervert's dream of lying in a pile of women's underthings, 2) His face felt like his wife had finally taken that sledgehammer to him like she had been promising to for years, and 3) One very pissed off panty merchant's fist was heading towards his face.

_KRUNCH!_

Ah well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about solid foods anymore.

A liquid diet's healthier anyway.

------ 

The air was rushing past his ears as the ANBU ran, creating a hollow _whooshing_ sound that deafened him. He knew that higher classed ninja could condition their bodies and chakra until it seemed they could move faster than normal, but this was insane! A runny blur was all that Naruto could make of his surroundings as the unlikely pair dashed towards the Hokage's Tower.

Naruto had long since given up struggling. Every time he tried to wiggle out of the man's grip, he just clamped down tighter, squeezing the breath out of Naruto's body every time he so much as wriggled his pinky toe.

So he lay as still as possible, trying to act like the sack of rocks the ANBU had treated him as.

A few moments later found a dizzy Naruto dropped carelessly in front of two other ANBU, the guards to the small gated entrance of the Tower.

"Here's the brat. He's to be taken to the Hokage immediately." The man's words were clipped and precise, as if every moment wasted was a crime in of itself.

The two guards nodded their badger and rat masks simultaneously.

"Understood," they barked.

Finally coming to his senses, though his vision was till a tad blurry, he focused his eyes just in time to see Tiger disappear in a puff of smoke and a whirl of leaves.

He blinked.

He looked up at Rat and Badger, who unconciously puffed out their chests, well used to being the subjects of admiration for young boys, ninja and civillian alike.

"Who the hell chooses a rat and badger as a mask?! They suck!" Naruto shook his head disdainfully. "Now a Tiger mask...that's cool!"

The two guards deflated like a pair of ballons.

------ 

"Gaaaahh!"

A very irate Badger literally tossed the little brat into the Hokage's office.

He landed with a very painful _thump _face-first on the floor in front of a huge oaken desk.

"Hokage-sama shall be here shortly. Sit down and be quiet!" Rat snarled over the shoulder of Badger. Apparently, the subject of the two's masks was a serious taboo. Who knew that they were so sensitive about it?

Naruto blithely flipped them off as he cradled his sore cheek in his hand. Badger's hand instinctively twitched towards his shuriken pouch, but Rat managed to stop him in time. Badger shook him off and huffed angrily before slamming the door behind him.

Still scowling heavily, Naruto took his prize out of his pocket and examined it for damage. The little wooden kunai was cracked in a few places, but otherwise seemed undamaged.

Naruto's shoulders drooped slightly as he recalled the theft.

This year, the Academy students were beginning their instruction on how to properly handle tools such as shuriken and kunai in battle. Admittedly, he was terrible at the subject, but that only made him all the more determined to succeed at it. Unlike most of his classmates, he could ill afford to buy the required sets of weapons that would allow him to practice at home. As it was, he was forced to use old hand-me downs from the Academy, and they never seemed to fly as true or gleam so brightly as the set that belonged to the Uchiha kid, or even that Hyuuga boy who was already in his third year.

And so, he scrimped and saved as much as he could, even skipping a few visits to Ichiraku, in the hopes that he could buy a set that would do him proud.

Unfortunately, he had grossly underestimated the price of a student's set of weaponry. The few ryo2 that he had managed to set aside was not nearly enough to buy what he had in mind. The only thing that was even in the neighborhood of his budget was a dull wooden kunai that was hardly useful and intended solely for decoration or for a small child. Naruto knew this, but anything would have been better than nothing. It would be useful for target practice, at least.

The only problem was the weapons merchant, the very same one that had led the mob on that wild chase just a short while ago.

For some reason, most inhabitants of the village hated Naruto with a passion that they reserved for the lowest of the low and the worst of criminals. The mere sight of him was enough to silence an entire street. They would fix him with baleful, wrath filled stares and whisper quietly amongst themselves. They all put as much distance between the hated child and themselves as they possibly could.

For a eleven year old child with no family or friends to speak of, you can imagine the pain and confusion his forced isolation caused him. But somehow, even through all of his childhood, he managed to brush it ashide as if it mattered not. His brash and cocky attitude shielded him from those stares and whispers. They were the only things that could.

The weapons merchant, in particular, positively loathed the boy. When Naruto had first approached him about the wooden toy, he was chased from the stall with blows and curses. Naruto, being the impulsive prankster that he was, decided to take matters into his own hands. Utilizing all the stealth he possessed, he manged to palm the kunai while the merchant was occupied with a customer, leaving the two ryo where it had lain. A few feet from the stall without any trouble and he considered himself home free.

The merchant's wounded screeching behind him told him otherwise.

He might have gotten away with it if he hadn't tried to speed away from the scene of the crime.

As it was, a speeding flash of orange told the merchant all he needed to know.

In a sudden fit of anger, Naruto snarled, "God**dammit!** I **hate** them!"

He was so tired of being cheerful. So tired of smiling when he wanted to cry instead. And he was so utterly weary of pretending that his dream of acknowledgement would ever come true.

Disgusted with the world in general, he flung the kunai over his head, not caring where it landed.

Until he heard a crash, that is.

His anger forgotten in his fear, his head whipped around and he nearly fainted on the spot when he saw what he had broken laying in front of the small fireplace.

A small vase lay shattered, and bits of gray dust were settling down around it.

Naruto had no idea what he had just broken, but it certainly looked a lot like those urns that held the ashes of dead people.

His eyes instantly snapped to the pictures on the mantle above the fire place.

His hands flew to his forehead in horror as he saw pictures of the Fourth and the other previous Hokages staring impassively at him.

"Ahh! I broke the Yondaime! I mean, his body, the urn--dust--broken….?" His voice trailed off into incoherent babbles. Forget a torture session, this was more likely to earn him a one way ticket to the executioner's block!

He scuttled over to the vase, whimpering like a kicked puppy. Oh, he was _so _dead!

In this situation, ladies and gentlemen, we see a classic Uzumaki technique. If perhaps, we ignore reality hard enough, and pretend that it never happened, then maybe, just maybe, it will go away.

Naruto had nowhere near the patience to wait and hope the mess solved itself.

He bent over and picked up a corner of the rug and swept the broken shards under it. He studied the lump intently. If you looked at it right, it seemed flat. Sort of. Satisfied, he dusted his hands and tried to get rid of the dust the only way he knew how.

By throwing it in the smoldering embers of last night's fire.

This was a completely logical thought and we cannot fault him for thinking so. However, this particular dust reacted rather violently when it came into contact with fire.

Three things happened the instant that Naruto tried to hide the evidence of his idiocy.

The Third Hokage opened the door, and upon seeing Naruto about to throw the dust upon the coals, shouted his name in alarm, throwing out his arm in a hopeless attempt to halt the boy.

Naruto jumped reflexively, causing him to drop the dust directly onto the fireplace, which roared instantly in a whirling maelstrom of green flames.

Surprised beyond belief that a little dust could cause such a violent reaction, Naruto tried to dash away, only to trip up on the shards of the vase he had tried to sweep under the rug. Screaming his throat hoarse, Naruto fell headfirst into the blaze and disappeared into it's depths as the green fire died back down to embers.

The Hokage made an awkward flying leap to try to catch the boy, but alas, he was far too late and too far away from Naruto. He landed face first into the gritty ashes in front of the grille.

And that was how Rat and Badger found the strongest ninja in the Hidden Village of the Leaf when they rushed to investigate the scream.

Can you say blackmail material, kids?

------ 

Halfway across the world, somewhere in the misty highlands of Scotland, there exists an extraordinary school whose existence is hidden from the mainstream world.

Indeed, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is a boarding school that is far from ordinary as you can get, as you can very well imagine. Oddities and rarities are the norm in those hallowed halls of learning. But today...something beyond even the normality of Hogwarts occured.

While the Headmaster of this school, one Albus Dumbledore, was away on business at Gringotts, a very peculiar thing happened, even by wizarding standards.

The small fireplace, which contained a small merry flame, suddenly burst into a whirlwind of green. A moment later, one very sooty and disoriented Uzumaki Naruto landed arse first on the carpet, covered in soot and nauseous beyond belief. After staring wide-eyed at the office full of wondrous gadgets and shiny dohickeys, his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he passed into the world of blissful ignorance.

**AN: Wow, I really like doing things in threes, don't I? It is a fairly powerful number after all.**

**1. Unless I'm mistaken, that is a straight-edge sword sword that was actually utilized by ninja. I believe that is it similar to the short sword that the Samurai used as a defensive weapon, but I could be wrong.**

**2. Again, don't quite have the numbers straight. All I know is that ryo is a higher form of currency than yen. And surely a professional set of kunai and shuriken would cost more than a large amount of yen, am I right?**


End file.
